


The Perfect Dream

by ssa_archivist



Category: Smallville
Genre: Drama, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-10-15
Updated: 2004-10-15
Packaged: 2017-11-01 09:28:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/354973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ssa_archivist/pseuds/ssa_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's much closer to reality than fantasy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Perfect Dream

**Author's Note:**

> Taking the plunge. A huge thank you to thistle90 for her beta help. Any leftover incoherency is my fault. 

## The Perfect Dream

by wunderful

<http://www.livejournal.com/users/wunderful29>

* * *

Summary: The best dreams look a lot like reality. At least according to Lex. 

* * *

Somehow in dreams it all made much more sense. 

Sometimes Dad would be dead, other times he'd be in prison. On occasion, Dad died in the castle the day the tornado hit. Or they both did. 

Often there'd be a beautiful girl who made Clark forget about the one who lived next door. Or if Lex was lucky, sometimes he'd be the one. 

Funny how in dreams everything was clearer, more concrete. 

Then there was the one he'd been having more recently; the one he liked most. 

Clark would find his secret obsession, a room filled with mementos--pictures, models of the crash, a database of documented evidence. And then Lex could tell him, then and there, exactly how he'd felt about him. He'd have to, because there was no other choice or chance to lie. 

But each time, Clark would be petulant, his words irrational, and he'd refuse to listen. Sometimes Lex would plead and force an explanation. Other times he'd let Clark leave, wouldn't push it. 

Either way, Clark wouldn't, or maybe couldn't believe that Lex wanted _him_ more than the secrets. No amount of altruism, no good deed could convince Clark otherwise. 

And Lex would be at peace with that. Because in the end, there was little else he could do. 

And he liked the finality of the slamming door and the angry footsteps in the distance. 

But then he'd open his eyes, let the light flood in harsh and sharp, and remember that wasn't how it had ended. 

There was no ending, certainly nothing as clearly defined as his favorite dream. Instead he was left with his memories and a migraine reminding him how it all disappeared and faded quietly. 

Before it died a silent death. 

No cards or last letters. Not even a final flourish of Luthor excess. There were no grand proclamations or confessions, no big red trucks that Clark had finally accepted. 

Only in dreams. 

Reality was something much sleeker, more insidious. Creeping up on him, slowly, among cluttered schedules and missed produce drop-offs. 

Reality was for recollecting, dreams were for forgetting. 

So under lamp light and with a bottle of pills in hand, he'd retrace the lines, how he'd become sidetracked with LexCorp and forgotten to call. How one planned, but never placed call became two, and then three, and then four. He'd lost count when Clark was still in high school. It was always something else, more important at the time. 

Then Mrs. Kent started making deliveries, because Clark would be busy with class and chores. Or off saving someone. Or getting over Lana. Then it had been a few years later, and Clark left for college. 

Lex hadn't needed saving in a while. And instead, he recalled how Clark Kent became his best friend and personal savior, then his favorite memory, then his most popular story at a dinner party. For some time now Clark had been _the one who saved you from drowning_. 

Sometimes Lex thought he'd settle for enemies if it meant having Clark closer. At least closer than memories. 

His best friend had grown and gone, and he was left with the taste of regret. There were a few pictures he kept tucked away from the staff, e-mails he'd never deleted. Things he liked to remember. 

Small things. Important things. Things he'd shared with Clark. Things he'd share with him again. Because Lex always promised himself that this wasn't how it was going to end. Not for him and Clark. 

Sometimes he'd dream of the barn, of Clark and him looking out at the fields, and he'd say their friendship would be _the stuff of legend_. 

But tonight, he'd cling to another dream. He'd let it linger for as long as possible, before he'd open and close his eyes again and find himself looking at Clark on the bridge, or the view of Kent Farms from a tinted car window. This one felt closest to reality, while still resembling something he _hadn't_ let go of, hadn't forgotten. 

" _She's at the old foundry_. _Don't worry, Clark_. _I'll have people over there in minutes_ \--" 

Before he'd know it, a familiar rush of air would race past him and it would be a matter of time before Clark saved the girl and saved the day. 

He'd let him go, because this one always ended with Clark coming back. Lex would hear a nervous knock on the office door, then an apology for _taking off like that again_. Sometimes there'd be pie or produce. They'd head down to the kitchen and talk, and Clark would tell him what it was like to save someone. Again. 

And Lex would listen. 

This time he remembered the glass of milk and the liquid moustache lining Clark's upper lip. And the grin that followed. It was his this time. 

He liked how this one felt like a memory, with no bubble-like fragility to it. This one felt firm and solid. It wasn't like the ones where they'd kiss, or the ones where they'd wake up years later in the same bed. This one he could hold onto longer, he'd been able to revisit with more frequency than the others. 

It was the perfect dream. Because even if Lex couldn't have him, in this one, he could let Clark be the hero. 


End file.
